


A Tale of Two Cousins

by HawthornHollow



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Beatrix Potter - Freeform, Benjamin Bunny - Freeform, Children's Stories, Cousins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-22 23:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30046680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthornHollow/pseuds/HawthornHollow
Summary: A very useless story based on the concept of Beatrix Potter's The Tale of Benjamin Bunny. But with the two young cousins, Ross and Francis Poldark, finding trouble as they tend to do.
Relationships: Francis Poldark & Ross Poldark
Kudos: 1





	A Tale of Two Cousins

**Author's Note:**

> *I recently got a message asking if I could re-post this story, which was originally posted to my tumblr in jest (that I've since cleared and have no plan of using again besides to browse), so I hope that reader enjoys.*
> 
> Well, I couldn’t help myself. Young Francis and Ross reminded me nostalgically of Beatrix Potter’s Peter and Benjamin. Two young cousins trespassing on a mission of their own, caught and saved by a gruff uncle? How perfect. Some mixed canon of the 2015 Poldark show and books. Ross is likened to Benjamin, and Francis to Peter, so some flopping. Just some senseless fun from my sleep-deprived mind.
> 
> Warnings: I kept the "whipping" mentioned in the Beatrix Potter story "The Tale of Benjamin Bunny" in the plot, but it’s a wee more elaborated so that’s the only warning I can think of. I don't condone it in real life, but it suits the time period.

Ross Poldark walked along the path that led to Trenwith. His keen ears alerted him to the distant clip-cloping of a nearing gig. He looked back over his shoulder when it grew closer to see that the gig was driven my Mr. Bodrugan, with Mrs. Bodrugan sat next to him. They took no notice of him and after they had passed, Ross moved onto the dirt of the road and followed in the wake of their tracks. He was headed in the direction of his Great Aunt, Uncle and Cousin Francis’ house. It was neither an impossibly long walk, nor a short one. He had no real interest in speaking to his Uncle presently, but having finished all his work and having somewhat been shooed out by his father, he was bored and went to ask Francis if he should like to keep him company down on the beach. They did not see one another as much anymore, since Francis often buried his nose deep within his studies, whereas Ross had not been in school for nearly three years. Ross was mindfully avoiding the puddles left by the late spring rains, and didn’t notice Francis until he was almost past his cousin, who stood in the chilled spring air in only his linen shirt near the fence line, not far from the path. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself, meaning he was either cold or worried about something. Ross froze and gave Francis an odd look of appraisal, his face contorting with confusion. 

“Francis,” Ross said softly, “What are you doing here and what’s happened to your jacket?” 

It was uncommon for his cousin to dress inappropriately for the weather, and he always adorned his good coat in the spring until it warmed up some. Francis spun, startled by Ross’ voice and looked a bit ill. “On a post in the Bodrugan’s garden,” Francis pointed out in the distance where his gaze had been directed. 

He then relayed how he had been walking down the path a day before, when he went to check his pocket watch. But the chain had snapped, and the clasp fell off. As if it had been anticipating it, a menacing chough swooped down in a fluttering of black feathers, plucked it from the ground and flew off into the wood on the other side of the Bodrugan’s fence. Francis had tried to swipe and grab at the thief, but it was much too quick. It had perched itself in a tree quite set back into the wood, but very visible, discarded the trinket into a scraggily nest, and looked at him as if mocking his inability to retrieve his lost item. 

Francis had considered leaving it, but then the bird flew off, likely in search of some other treasures or building materials for his nest, and Francis contemplated. He quite liked the watch and hadn’t really wanted to hassle with buying a replacement clasp, although he certainly could. After some thought, he had decided to reclaim it quickly and simply. He had easily swung his long, gangly legs over the fence and looking first up and down the path for onlookers, shuffled through the weed and brush. He scaled the tree easily too, fished out his clasp, and then quick as it would have been done, the branch beneath his feet had gone out. His jacket had snagged on another branch as he tumbled to the ground, stripping it clean off him. Then there had been commotion; the game keepers had heard and were running towards him. He had raced for the fence, abandoning the jacket when it had not come down with a frantic tug to the only hem he could reach. He hadn’t looked back at all. But now, a whole day later, he stood and stared. The game keepers had found it and put it on a stick stuck into the ground in the garden like a scarecrow, visible from the path, possibly with the intention to lure the culprit back. Or perhaps just to ward off choughs. Francis had been ready to come up with an excuse of how he had lost it, but in going back to see if he could retrieve it first, he had seen it right away— hanging like a flag— and panic made its home deep within him. If his Father or anyone were to recognize his jacket, he wound be in great trouble, possibly even legal trouble. Ross listened thoughtfully as Francis quickly rattled off his woes. 

“An unfortunate affair,” Ross stated. 

“I must tell Father before he finds out some other way,” Francis trailed off, gravely. 

“Who is to believe how they came across it? You have never trespassed before,” Ross said with some amusement. Ross in contrast, had ventured onto private property for a handful of reasons, none malicious, other than that sometimes he did so just for sport. 

“Ross, I did trespass…They heard me and now have the evidence.”

Ross knew Francis wouldn’t be budged from this fact. He sighed, “We shall get it back then.”

Francis shook his head, “No, Ross! It could only go worse. Anyone could see us from the road. I’ll simply tell Father.”

“Tis a simple enough task. You will have to either come with or leave, Francis. You’ll draw attention standing there without so much as an overcoat,” Ross looked up and down the road, then swiftly swung himself over the fence. He stalked over to the wood cover stealthily. Francis felt he was going to be sick, but decided to follow his cousin despite his discretion. The garden was surrounded by a more secure fence to keep vermin out. Ross listened for the sound of feet, voices or hooves, then crept low to the ground and over to the side of the garden nearest the wood. From this angle, a small garden shed also blocked them from view of the house. 

“The gate may squeak,” Ross said in a hushed voice, “Be my look-out.” And then Ross pulled himself up and over the garden fence. He expertly grabbed the jacket off its post, slinking back to Francis as quietly and gracefully as a cat. Francis gratefully took the jacket back but didn’t dare put it on, chilled as he was. It was damp and more so, he couldn’t be spotted in it possibly ever again, but at least it wouldn’t be hanging as an incriminating spectacle. Feeling very confident and somewhat at ease by this point, Ross glanced around again and noticed some plump, ripe blueberries threatening to fall from their stems. He took one and popped it into his mouth. Then he took a few more and offered some to Francis. 

Francis’ eyes were still wide as saucers and his face white as a sheet. He shook his head and whispered, “Please Ross, come back over the side. We must leave!” Ross threw back the rest of the fruit and hopped back over. After he did, he froze. Francis began to ask “What?” but Ross clamped his hand over his mouth and made them both duck. There were voices far off, speaking of things that could not be discerned from that range. They were growing gradually louder, however. 

Thinking quickly, Ross opened the door to the garden shed carefully and motioned Francis in. The two crept into the small space, which was filled with tools, crates, baskets of picked vegetables and wheelbarrows of dirt. The shed had but one window, which let in a single straight beam of sunlight. Then, there was a knock against the door. The two stilled with fright. The sound came again, encouraging Ross to duck beneath some crates and Francis followed. They pulled a canvas sheet that covered some of the baskets up and over their heads and suddenly— their eyes began to sting and their noses wrinkled. "Onions!" Francis acknowledged with disgust. 

Ross began to blink uncontrollably and Francis rubbed at his eyes as they tried to be quiet as two bad mice. With a final thud, a fat tabby cat barged into the shed, curling past the door with her tail high in the air. Perhaps she had in fact been hoping to hunt down mice or rabbits for a snack. She sat and began to wash a paw, then froze mid-lap as she made eye contact with the two sets of watery eyes. She looked from one to the other and said, "Meow". It sounded a bit like a question. Ross almost laughed, but Francis could only hear the sound of blood rushing in his ears. 

"Tis but a cat," Ross stated as he crawled out. He reached down to pet the purring creature, who was quite friendly. Then he looked out the window and listened, deciding it sounded safe to make leave. He gestured for Francis to follow, so Francis did so on shaking knees. With a final glance around the perimeter and a quick listen, Ross pulled Francis by his wrist into the wood, inching closer to the property line on the diagonal. Just as they were almost there, hooves could be heard trotting up the street. Ross hid himself from the road’s view with a thicker trunk, but Francis froze, so Ross tugged him back too. The carriage passed not long after and Ross, deciding not to let go of Francis’ wrist now, tugged him along hastily.

Unfortunately, Ross chose a poor time to steal a glance back at the carriage, and suddenly there was no more ground beneath his foot. His weight fell forward and with him, Francis. The two had tumbled down into what Ross could only assume was the remainder of an uprooted and partially re-filled well. It was about eight feet deep, bowl shaped and the bottom was soft and moist and muddy and full of leaves. The two young men groaned, trying to find their footing and decide if they had any broken bones. Decided they hadn’t, they listened, trying to be quiet. They heard nothing above, and so Ross tried to make attempt to climb out. It was just bowl shaped and mud-like enough to have no good place for footing, and the earth just gave and slid away each time. Ross brushed his muddied dark hair back, and Francis shook some of the dirt and leaves from his fairer hair. 

"It is no use,” Ross spat, “You’ll have to climb my shoulders.”

Francis looked up and nodded, slipping on his filthy damp jacket so he would not have to hold it. Ross kneeled and he stepped onto Ross’s shoulders, using the side of the pit to steady himself as Ross grunted and raised them both up. Francis grappled for the grassy growth near the edge of the opening, but only his fingertips could touch it. He strained desperately, while Ross wavered and strained beneath him, sinking down in deep mud under their combined weight. 

“Can you reach?” Ross gritted out.

“No! The edge falls away beneath my grip! I should have just told Father! He would have sorted it out— now we’ve quite literally gotten ourselves into our own grave!

“Hush! You know you would have been in dire trouble either way. And what if someone else had recognized it before Uncle was able to sort it all?” The two began tossing remarks back and forth, trying to keep hushed as they fought for freedom from the trench and impending capture. 

Meanwhile, Charles Poldark was walking along the path near the fence line when he heard it. He had been on his way to his brother’s to inquire about his clearly insubordinate and irresponsible son’s whereabouts. He was walking, twirling his cane behind his back, and mumbling under his breath about the impression his nephew must have had on his son’s inherently good behavior. Although Ross would probably be off completing some great feat should he be the one missing and forgetting his duties, while Francis was likely simply distracted by some senseless game! He froze and looked about. 

Sharp whispers could be heard and he could very distinctly make out his son’s voice saying, “Just a little higher, Ross! I can nearly reach!” to which Ross’ reply came through gritted teeth, “Damn you, Francis! If you had more strength in your arms, we would be free! I cannot very well grow taller!”

Charles’ face turned purplish-red with anger. He huffed closer, grasping the fence with thick hands while he scanned the floor of the wood. He saw the pit then, and gnashed his teeth. He stepped himself over a portion of fence that had a fallen rung and stalked to the edge of the hole. When he got there and looked down, two sets of eyes— one pale and one dark— shot up to him and enlarged with shock. Wordlessly, Charles grabbed Francis’ hands and his collar and heaved him up. Then he stretched the cane he still held down to Ross and with some help from Francis, he dragged Ross up and out next. Charles resolved to not let go of Ross’ collar as he marched him off the property, knowing Francis would be close in tow. Ross didn’t much protest, but darkly eyed his uncle with unhidden contempt. 

Charles once more hefted over the fence, taking Ross with. “Scoundrels! Trespassing! Trapped like rabbits in a snare! Haven’t a lick of sense in you, have you? Leading my son astray in your musings! Well, I’ll give you a lick of something else! Aarf!”

And with that, Charles took his nephew under his arm and bent him in half, making new use if the cane and quickly applying a dozen fast, forceful thwacks upon the seat of his pants. Ross writhed and fought, enraged by the indignity and nerve of his Uncle. He might have been able to break free, scrappy and agile as he was, but he was tired from lifting Francis and his Uncle was a large, sturdy man thrice his size in frame. So soon, he gave into new found feelings of guilt for likely having earned Francis the same as he was receiving. Francis— as his Father had expected— stood with his chin down, discomfort in his eyes for his cousin and his hands clasped behind his back in shame and submission. Ross couldn’t decide if that integrity was admirable to him, or downright appalling. 

He was let up as quickly as it had started and thrust away as his Uncle descended upon Francis next. Ross let his head drop, holding his wounded part and keeping his back turned to them, but he watched over his shoulder from under heavy eyelashes. Suddenly he felt very responsible and sorry for Francis and his sense of recompense. 

“Come Francis. You know better, my boy,” and then Charles was upon Francis, who let himself be thrown into much the same position and under similar rain of fiery wrath. 

He let out a handful of pained sounds and tucked his hands tightly into his underarms, as if to keep them from doing anything else. Ross could see—however unsurprisingly— that his Uncle put no where near the same amount of force behind his swings with Francis as he had with him, but Francis was a more delicate sort and his Uncle had always had a level of distaste for Ross in terms of obedience. Or lack there of. It didn’t take as much for Francis to set him straight and so Ross was glad, even more than he was angry with his Uncle for thrashing him at all. When Francis was let up, his eyes were very watery, as were Ross’ from the sting of the whipping. Or maybe still from the potent scent of onions. Although, Ross was rather certain his cousin’s light eyes also glistened with tears of true remorse for his transgressions. Ross would have to ensure he wouldn’t stew in self-loathing for the remainder of the week over it. Francis’ only real fault had been following his lead, but he had a tendency to dwell in his shortcomings, as did his Father. With warning raps to their heels, Charles huffed and steered the muddied young men ahead of him, refusing to take his eyes off of them until they were back on the path. He nodded gruffly to himself at their slumped shoulders, downcast eyes and cradled seats. A job well handled, he assured himself. Ross turned to face them, more than ready to part ways. 

“Alright boy, best be on your way home now.”

Francis gave Ross a look then that Ross hadn’t quite expected. It looked a bit like anger. “I shan’t follow you the next time you get an idea such as this, Ross. It was not a bit worth it.”

Charles clasped his son’s shoulder proudly, and Ross bristled. Then he grinned and nodded curtly, “My apologies for leading Francis into trouble, Uncle. I am deeply sorry Francis, that I encouraged you to commit such behavior. However, I am still glad we were able to retrieve your jacket.”

Francis paled. Charles’ brows knitted, “What’s this, Francis? How did your jacket come to be on Bodrugan property, young man? Answer me!”

“Damn you, Ross!” Francis let out in a high breath. 

Charles fumed again and grabbed Francis by the ear, “That’s enough out of you! Answer me or I’ll thrash you anew!”  
Francis now looked remarkably meek and unstable in his nerves, and Ross found himself already regretting having opened his mouth again. Francis looked at Ross with true and deep hurt as he answered, sullenly. 

“I had come once before, on my own—”

Ross, feeling very poorly, cut him off, “To retrieve his pocket watch clasp a chough had snatched, Sir. He only went to retrieve it, but got his jacket snagged and left it. The game keepers must have found it and posted it in the garden. It was my idea to get it back, should someone see it and think Francis had ill intentions in his trespassing. Tis' my fault, Uncle.”

Charles pondered for a long minute. Nodding and grunting to himself, “You were both wrong. Should have left the bloody clasp and bought a new one! Trespassing is illegal. And falling in holes while trespassing! Aarf! Consider this a lesson well learned, the both of you, and we’d no reason to speak on it again.”

The boys shared a look of silent reconciliation and nodded. Then Charles turned and began back towards his home. Francis followed shortly after with a wave farewell to his cousin. Ross waved back and turned, starting his very unpleasant journey home.


End file.
